Saturday, November 6, 2010

LOOK YOU, LOW THERE


From the mile of
your eye subtract the
getting warmer. If it's
like stupid, seems like

nowhere you can
join me into. I want to
make something for you.
Clean air too

scrubbed under, living
as another home
based on early
cries returned.

And only
for all the damn
world we gather
immolated tones.

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